


Je Ne Sais Pas

by OpheliacOfCamelot



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Awkward Romance, England Being a Jerk (Hetalia), GerFra, Germany being awkward, Hetalia Kink Meme, Jean D'arc mention, M/M, wee bit of angst/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliacOfCamelot/pseuds/OpheliacOfCamelot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France and England are arguing, as usual.<br/>England takes a comeback much too personal and as France realizes he has crossed the line, he apologizes, or tries to. Until England reciprocates with something just as hurtful.</p>
<p>Slight angsty French, awkward Germany to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Je Ne Sais Pas

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I wrote a while back for the Hetalia Kink Meme, and since I'm not done with my big project, I'm posting this to try to makeup for my absence. It has been my first and only time trying to write both characters, so pardon any OOCness. I tried.

“You two fight like cats and dogs,” Cats and dogs? Perhaps, but who was the cat and who was the dog? Who was the pussy and who was the bitch? Francis thought it a rather vulgar and distasteful set of questions, even for himself, especially for himself, and he knew he shouldn’t have voiced them. Why had the argument even began this time around? They were France and England, honestly, they had no need for a precise reason, they were known to fight over the simplest of things, or in the end, over everything and nothing at all.  
“Wanker!”  
“Salope!”   
“Knobhead!!”  
“On t'a bercé trop près du mur? (‘ As a child, was your cradle rocked too close to the wall?’ the French way of asking if someone fell on their head as a baby.)  
“You barmy pillock!”  
“I’ll have you know I am quite the contrary, and very good in bed while at it, if you so care to confirm it?~” Flirting in the middle of an argument wasn’t uncommon either, and many times, the Parisian used it more to silence the Brit and end it all for good than to spite him more.  
“Not in a million years,”  
“Not in 1,776 years?”  
He had taken it too far, and he noticed it when both Arthur and Alfred went quiet. It was clear that even with the special relationship and whatever sort of romance the two had, certain things were still leftover from those times. Things that were not for him to intrude and suddenly, remorse washed over him. He watched as the American continued to vacuum his food into his mouth in an attempt to brush past it, but something about his shoulders said he was tense. Arthur on the other hand quietly excused himself from the room, Francis followed him and found a bit of a trail of blood. Ah yes, the literal bleeding at mentions of the revolution, he should have remembered. “Arthur, I’m so-“  
“Save it,”  
“Hear me out.”  
“I said to save it.” The Brit held a handful of bloody napkins, “I may not be good at holding colonies, but you know at what I am?” He didn’t wait for a response, “Burning heretics.” He stated quickly as he walked back into the conference room.   
Francis was left standing in his spot as uncomfortably as Arthur had previously been, but he didn’t dare complain. Yes, it had been him the one who allowed his mouth to slip, it was only statistically fair. Still, that fact didn’t stop him from feeling absolutely deflated. While anyone, even a history major professor might think back to Mary Tudor with England’s reference, the island nation had said it with venom because he knew the bite would hurt. He had hit the nail on the head, Francis had remembered just who Arthur wanted him to, Jean.

That had of course happened a long, long time ago. The wound wasn’t as fresh as it could be, thinking back on it didn’t cause him to bleed. Mentions didn’t break him to tears, but just about everything else in conjunction after a few minutes, did, or at least to a certain level. After he stood there and appeared to consider his entire existence from those times in the 13th century to now, he found himself with watery eyes.   
What was he? He was the French Republic, and he was Francis Bonnefoy, the country of love. What did he have? A couple million citizens, a tower that shrunk during the winter, strikes, and a bad economy. What did he lack? Everything. Was it even fair for him to complain though? He had everything a regular human would kill for, everything and more than an African child could ever dream for if you truly wanted to look at it that way. But that was just it, he was not human, and everything he had were materialistic things that came and went with time, just as everything else. Life truly did wonderful things as it did pitiful ones. How ironic it was for him, whom everyone can think of when love is mentioned to lack that explicitly. He had Canada, and he had Seychelles, and Spain, and yes, even Prussia, but friends and family didn’t exactly fill in that hole in his heart ready to be flooded with affection.   
Jean was his only thought when love came into the question, or recently, Lisa. Sometimes, he wished he could die, it wasn’t much suicidal thoughts as it was a hope for reuniting with certain folks in the afterlife. He didn’t want to admit it, but sometimes, and it tended to be in the worse and more unpredictable moments, he had to come to the realization he was just done with life. He could only imagine China’s situation and couldn’t put thoughts together as to how the other managed. Well, of course, China had Russia, and England had America, and Egypt… Well, Egypt was Egypt, he tried not to break his head over the African. 

On the door stood a muscular blonde with the most conflicted expression ever, the Frenchman’s back was turned to him and he could not swear on it, but by the shaking of the other’s shoulders, he could make out a few sobs, Scheisse.. He had not read about this in the books, what was he to do in these situations? But then again, the books only ever mentioned friends, and Francis was not his friend, was he? WAS HE? The question seemed to echo in his mind with the force to crack his cranium but he shook his head before it all got too overwhelming. He wouldn’t mind being friends with Francis, so long as the other didn’t mind either. That being stated, the fact the Parisian seemed to have forgiven him for the past two wars did the trick. He cleared his throat and the sobs stopped.  
When Francis turned to look at him, he cracked a bright smile. “Pardon me, did I put such a halt to your meeting that you felt you had to come all the way out here and scold me?”

The German shook his head, it wasn’t a thing common for him, to lie, but it wasn’t exactly a lie, he hadn’t come all the way out here /only/ to scold Francis for creating a gap in the conference table with his ever outstanding absence. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much but it just did. Feliciano had called in sick this morning, later admitted that he was actually out picking mushrooms with a fellow politician and although it most certainly caused the Western European to facepalm, it hadn’t been as irritating for him. He tried to convince himself with the idea that it all had to do with the two blondes being neighbours, and that Francis wasn’t ever actually absent, in contrary to the Italian who even when present could be ditching his seat for eating pasta under the table or flirting with the maid.  
“Are you okay?” Well, that was a pretty stupid question. Dunkoff, he thought, but his regrets were replaced with relief when the Frenchman’s forced grin turned into a true, small smile, or at least, he thought it was true, he could feel it was true. “Yes, why do you ask?” That was a very good question, but he had already answered himself just a few moments before in his head. “Because we’re… friends?”  
Francis only seemed to smile further until he couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the response that came out more or less like a question, “Oui Ludwig, we are friends.” His sorrow was almost instantly forgotten, it had never been here. The thought of the awkward German being concerned was beyond sweet, adorable even as the Frenchman reassured Ludwig of their friendship and the uptight expression softened. “Hm… Then.. Why were you crying?” The Parisian pulled his hair back into a loose ponytail, “Because I am clearly on my man period.” He joked, a humour the German did not seem to comprehend as he gave of looks of confusion, shock, and then uttermost terror. “I did not mean that literally,” He stated with a roll of his eyes to calm the other’s nerves. The taller blonde’s shoulders visibly relaxed, “I am fine, truly... Just emotional nonsense, do not mind me.”  
“It is hard not to…” Ludwig muttered, it truly was, Francis was not someone you could just not glance at with admiration, if not adoration. Granted that he had trouble putting definitions to those words, overall he had an idea. It was difficult not to stare as Francis walked around, seeming to leave a new dance move for a wonderful piece of ballroom dancing one day. It was most problematic to not get caught up in his horrendously beautiful and conflicting language, there was not a word that wasn’t wonderful in French. It was impossible to not just, look at him and never want to see tears on those eyes again. Because friends made their friends happy and that was what he was trying to succeed in doing, was he not?   
“Hmm?” Francis had heard him, but he just wished the other would expand on whatever he meant by it. “Nothing, nothing.” The German shook it all off, “…Would you like to dine with me tonight?” The question came from an honest want for the Frenchman’s bettering of mood and company. Francis’ ever joyful and flirty attitude resurfaced from the ashes, “Mon dieu! Is it a date? I will wear my best suit!” He teased as the taller man blushed all shades of red.  
“NEIN! I DID NOT SAY IT WAS A DATE!”  
Francis smirked and nodded, but it was only to hide his own blush as he spoke softly. “I got it, no need to yell.”  
“Then… at 7?”  
“At 7.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me about the title XD All I'm going to respond as to what it means is- I don't know. Google it and have a laugh.


End file.
